


Self-Insert Snippets

by Absolutely_Corrupted



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Naruto, Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:38:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolutely_Corrupted/pseuds/Absolutely_Corrupted
Summary: Just some excerpts from fics I started and abandoned over the years. All of them center around regular people falling into fictional universes. What can I say? It's an interesting trope.





	1. Dysfunctional (MCU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No powers, no influence, just some blood ties to her favorite character. Oh, and money. Lots and lots of money.

 

 Marcy stared into her mom’s pale green eyes and desperately tried to come up with a believable lie. “I was just,” she inhaled discretely and prayed her mom didn’t notice the slight hesitation. “Testing myself,” she finished lamely.

“Testing yourself?” Marcy winced at her mother’s incredulous tone.

“Well, yeah – I mean, yes!” She was quick to backtrack when her mother scowled at the colloquial. “I thought it seemed like a cool skill to have. I did some research and started learning about firewalls and countermeasures and got a little caught up. I wasn’t planning on actually using it,” she was quick to assure her mom, “But I felt pretty confident that I could if I wanted to.

“After a while,” she continued, “Just thinking I could wasn’t enough. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t wrong about my skill level.”

“But you were.”

Marcy licked her lips nervously and nodded. “I was.” 

Her mom groaned. “Sometimes I can’t believe how ridiculous you are, Marcy.” She rubbed tiredly at her face with both hands. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen: You are going to do whatever you’re told, no questions asked, no hesitation, for the foreseeable future.” Marcy nodded meekly. “And,” her mother added, “Nothing like this is going to happen again for as long as I’m alive, understood?”

She gave a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir!” Her mother’s responding glare was positively venomous. “Okay, sheesh!” It was clearly too soon for jokes. “I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“Much better,” her mom clapped her hands and stood up from the stiff white chair that matched Marcy’s tiny writing desk. “Now I’m going to go lay down before my blood pressure gets any higher.” The green eyed woman paused at the door. “And Marcy?”

“Yes mom?”

“Go to Andy if you need anything signed for school. After all those non-disclosure agreements…” She trailed off. “Well, if I never have to sign my name again it would be too soon.”

“Got it,” said Marcy.

Her mom nodded and left, leaving the (physically) thirteen year old to her own devices. _Finally,_ she couldn’t help but think. Ever since her unsuccessful attempt to hack (crack) into one of the most secure databases on the planet, she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d known it wouldn’t just end with the ‘cease and desist’ message that had popped up on her computer after she’d been forcibly ejected.

Still, she’d gotten off okay. The non-disclosures and confiscation of all her technology were reasonable consequences. Even the two men who came to talk to them were only intimidating, not actually threatening. They hadn’t done anything else besides have Marcy and her parents sign the forms, though she imagined her internet activity would be closely monitored in the near future.

Which was fine. She could afford to take a break for a little while. She’d confirmed the fact that she was in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Of course, she’d already known her world had something to do with the fiction she remembered, considering Tony Stark’s existence and the fact that she’d learned about Captain America in school. But she’d wondered whether things would follow the popular movies or include Marvel’s other characters and events.

Things would follow the movies, as it turned out.

The lack of any mention of mutants was a big indicator. Surely the high-level files she’d gotten into would have made some mention of them if they existed, however vague. But there’d been nothing. Add to that fact Tony Stark’s disappearance two months earlier… Well, it looked like she could expect things to unfold exactly as she remembered them. 

So long as she stayed out of it, that is.

Which she was planning on doing. Most major events would be outside of her ability to effect and no one would believe her if she tried to tell them what would happen. Even if by some miracle they did, she’d probably only screw something up and get herself or someone else killed.

…Yeah, she didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Who was she to play god? She may remember a previous life, but she was only thirteen in this one and not entirely her old self in mind.

Unfortunately, however logical her reasoning, she was already feeling guilty. Tony Stark was probably being tortured right at that moment. There wasn’t much she could have done to prevent it – even less to stop it, but simply knowing was a burden she wished she didn’t have to bear.

 _He’ll escape,_ Marcy reminded herself. _And he’ll come out of it a better person._

It was a small consolation.

 

* * *

 

Another month later and a half later and Tony Stark had done the impossible many times over. He’d survived and escaped the Ten Rings, built a device which utilized a new, clean energy source, and ousted the man who’d been selling Stark Industries weapons on the black market.

Marcy was feeling quite satisfied with the entirely expected turn of events and looking forward to a couple years of normalcy when she received some shocking news.

“…My birth father?”

Her mom nodded reluctantly.

“But I thought he just wanted to provide financial support?” She tried to sound nonchalant and failed miserably.

“Apparently he’s had a change of heart – not that I can really blame him, all things considered.” Judging by her resigned tone, Marcy’s mom was as unhappy with the news as she was.

Marcy had long since deduced the man’s identity and had been quite happy with only receiving his money. The lack of interaction meant there was no risk of unintentionally changing things. But if he suddenly wanted to meet her, perhaps even get involved in her life…? Quite frankly, she didn’t know whether she’d be strong-willed enough to avoid _intentionally_ changing things.

“When are we scheduled to meet up?” _Please don’t say this week. Please don’t say this week. Please don’t say-_

“Tomorrow afternoon.” _Shit._

Marcy shook her head in disbelief. “That’s such short notice!”

“He was insistent.” The green eyed woman sheepishly averted her eyes. “And I couldn’t very well say no after what he’s been through.”

“…Right, thanks, Mom.”

 _God forbid she negotiate something that gives me a chance to prepare,_ she thought sullenly. _How am I supposed to deal with this? In less than 24 hours?!_

* * *

 

**_Are you sure about this?_ **

Tony stared long and hard and the text message on the screen. _No,_ he found himself thinking. Still, he wasn’t going to run from this any longer.

He typed _‘ **yes** ’ _and tucked his phone away.

Sucking in a breath and wishing his chest weren’t quite so sore, Tony pulled his keys from the ignition. A voice, sounding very much like his late father, mocked him for his cowardice.

Frustrated, he told the voice to ‘fuck off’ and climbed out of the cheap, sensible car. _Ugh._ He halfheartedly kicked the wheel. He wouldn’t usually be caught dead in something so unassuming, but he couldn’t afford to be recognized.

That in mind, he hastened up the stairs of the townhouse. The front door was a glossy black, looking freshly painted and striking against the red bricks. He rang the doorbell and crossed his arms.

Less than thirty seconds later an unfamiliar woman opened the door and ushered him in. She had auburn hair, startlingly green eyes, and freckled skin. He wondered whether he’d gone after her for her eyes or her body – or both. He’d always had a soft spot for lithe woman and rare coloring.

“You must be Tony,” said the woman. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He shook her offered hand. “Nice to meet you too Alexa.” There, that was polite and inoffensive. Now he only had to make it through the rest of the afternoon without insulting or upsetting anyone.

The woman smiled. “This is already a vast improvement on what little I can remember of our first run in.” He laughed nervously. “Anyway, is there anything you’d like to drink? Or maybe something to eat?”

Whiskey sounded pretty appealing right about then, but he knew that fell on the inappropriate side of the spectrum. “No thanks, I’ve already had lunch.”

“Okay, I suppose we should just get on with it then,” said Alexa. She turned away from him and raised her voice. “Marcella! Come say hello to Mr. Stark!”

Tony felt his palms begin to sweat as a set of footsteps approached the foyer. Only the memory of Yinsen’s words kept him in place: _‘So you’re a man who has everything, and nothing.’_

A girl appeared. Tony found himself studying her, looking for himself in her features. She had his rounded brown eyes, which was a shame considering her mother’s striking shade, and tawny hair that matched neither of them.

"Hi, kid."

She smiled and opened her mouth-

"Hi, adult."

_Huh._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Welcome to the 90s (Supernatural)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate version of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Monsters. This one takes place many years earlier, with an Addison who is quite vexed by her physical age.

**_de·lu·sion_ **

**_/dəˈlo͞oZHən/_ **

****

_(Noun) An idiosyncratic belief or impression that is firmly maintained despite being contradicted by what is generally accepted as reality or rational argument, typically a symptom of mental disorder._

* * *

 

I was sleeping peacefully when a hand on my knee startled me into wakefulness. Blinking blearily, I looked around and saw that I was in the backseat of a moving car. The seat belt was digging uncomfortably into my hip and something was wedged between my back and the seat. Grumbling, I shifted until I was a little more comfortable and let my eyes drift shut.

Barely a moment later, the hand was back on my knee. “Up and at ‘em, kid.” The gruff voice sounded amused. “We’re almost there.”

Sighing, I forced myself to sit up straight and reopened my eyes. The last remnants of sleep were difficult to shake off, but the sunlight streaming through the windows helped. I glanced around the car and took in my two companions.

John, the driver, was focused on the road. Only his profile was visible to me, but I could see him mouthing the words to whatever song was quietly playing over the radio. His twelve-year-old son was reading a novel in the seat directly behind him.

I tried to move so that I could read the title, but my seatbelt didn’t have enough give. I gave up and tapped Sam on his shoulder. “What are you reading?”

He huffed at me, but answered despite his annoyance. “The Giver.”

“Yuck,” I said. “I don’t like that book.” Dystopian scenarios were depressing and overdone.

He rolled his eyes. “You can’t say you dislike a book if you haven’t read it.” With that, he pointedly turned away.

I huffed quietly, but didn’t bother with correcting him. There was no point.

John looked between us with a tired sigh, but ultimately chose not to comment. “We’re here,” he said instead. He brought the car to a stop and turned around in his seat to look at us. “Be good you two – I’ll be back to pick you up at three o’clock.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Sam dismissively. “See you.”

I muttered a quiet ‘bye’ and climbed out, immediately making my way towards the brick building at the end of the walk. It was my third day there, so I easily found the correct room and walked in.

Inside, a young woman was wiping a little boy’s nose. She looked up just in time to see me put my backpack on one of the miniature chairs. “Good morning, Addie.”

“Good morning, Miss Robinson,” I dutifully parroted back.

She smiled indulgently and went back to cleaning up the snotty child. With nothing else to do, I pulled out a notebook and doodled while I waited for class to start. I drew trees, flowers, and other innocuous things as I considered my situation for what had to be the thousandth time.

A month ago, I’d been in a car accident. Afterwards, I’d woken in a hospital with a body many years too young and an unfamiliar man claiming to be my father. I’d thought it was some sort of dream at the time, so my protests when he checked me out had been half-hearted at best.

Even days later, when he introduced me to his sons, I remained mostly unconcerned. The fact that I’d dreamt myself into a fictional scenario was by no means unprecedented. That calm acceptance didn’t last.

Eventually, when two weeks had gone by and I’d yet to wake up, I started to worry. I’d never before had such a long dream. Nothing woke me up – not pain, not fear, not even intense concentration.

I came to the conclusion that I was either in coma or trapped in a delusion brought on by head injury. For obvious reasons, I hoped it was the first option. On the off chance it wasn’t, well, I’d just have to be careful not to say or do anything too embarrassing. I had no way of knowing if my real body was doing what my imagined one was. For all I knew, I could be having one-sided, nonsensical conversations with a wall every time I spoke to someone here.

I shuddered at the thought.

The bell rang and Miss Robinson clapped her hands. “Okay class, I’m going to pass out worksheets. Try to match the numbers all by yourselves – I’ll go over the correct answers once everyone’s done.”

I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes once I received my own. With a weary sigh, I drew four lines to connect the numbers 2,4,1, and 6 to the correct number of apples depicted on the right side of the paper. _Is this really the sort of work kindergarteners are stuck with?_

It seemed overly-simple, but maybe I was just too far removed from normal children. I’d been working with gifted kids for so long that I probably had unrealistic expectations.

Someone tugged on my sleeve and brought me back to the present. “Addie? Can you help me?” My tiny deskmate turned her big blue eyes on me. “I don’t understand what we’re s’posed to be doing.”

 _Aw._ “Of course, Rachel.” I scooted closer and launched into an explanation, glad for the excuse to do something familiar. Unfortunately for me, little Rachel picked things up quickly. She was done in no time at all and I was stuck with nothing to do again.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion. Long periods of anxious inactivity punctuated by short periods where I tried to pretend I was only tutoring and not actually one of the kids. By the time the final bell rang, I was mentally exhausted and more than ready to leave.

I met Sam at the kiss & ride and we spent a few minutes looking around for John’s car. When we failed to find it, I decided to sit down under a tree to wait. Fifteen minutes later, the ’67 Impala finally pulled up.

We climbed in and I was surprised to find Dean behind the wheel instead of John.

“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked.

Dean glanced at me and then back to his brother. “Got called away on a hunt. He said he’d be back tomorrow night at the latest.”

“I’m surprised it took him this long to ditch us,” said Sam.

“Dam- Dang it, Sam,” Dean amended with a worried glance in my direction. “You know it’s not like that. He’s saving lives.”

He scoffed. “What about our lives, huh? Constantly uprooting us, making us train, saddling us with his _mistake!”_

“Sam!” Dean barked. “That’s enough!”

Sam huffed something under his breath but ultimately let the subject drop. Part of me felt like protesting the complaint about my presence, but I knew arguing would be pointless. He wasn’t even _real._

After a few minutes of awkward silence Dean cleared his throat. “So Addie, how was school?”

“Fine, thank you,” I said curtly. I probably sounded a bit rude, but I didn’t really want to dwell on the fact that my subconscious had turned me into a child and put me in kindergarten. Regardless of whether this was a dream or a delusion, it didn’t really say good things about my mental state.

“Aw, come on,” he said. “You must have done _something_ fun?”

Any other time, I’d have said something vague and been done with it, but after spending the day being talked down to, my patience was wearing thin. “Contrary to what you might believe,” I said scathingly, “Singing nursery rhymes and counting to ten is _not_ my idea of a good time.” There was a long moment where both brothers stared at me in shock. “Sorry,” I muttered belatedly. “I’m having a bad day.”

“R-Right,” said Dean, clearly weirded out.

We spent the rest of the ride in awkward silence.


	3. Illegal Aliens (Smallville)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val's pretty sure she's not supposed to exist, but that won't stop her from looking out for Kal. She doesn't care about their supposed blood ties, but she does care about the little boy she's practically raised. No one, not even Lex Luthor, is going to harm a hair on his stupid little head.

Ten years of experience hiding her abilities is the only reason Val has the good sense to tackle her brother out of the way when the Porsche swerves off rode, rather than picking him up and shooting into the sky.

The two of them lie there, wide-eyed in the middle of the road, for nearly ten seconds after the incident before reality sinks in.

“ _By the light of Rao!”_ Val exclaims, too shocked to hold back the Kryptonian expression. She scrambles to her feet. “I’m going to get the driver. Stay here!”

Running quickly, but not inhumanly quickly, Val uses the extra time spent reaching the side of the bridge to listen for any sign of where the car might be beneath the water.

 _There._ She can hear the distorted sound of the car’s metal body groaning as it settles on the riverbed. Afraid to waste any more time, Val dives over the ledge. Underwater, she makes full use of her superhuman speed to reach the vehicle. Part of the windshield is already shattered, so Val simply pulls the rest away with her fingers. Once she’s done, she has enough room to unbuckle the man and pull him out of the wreckage.

“Val!” Almost as soon as her head hits air, Clark is there, looking anxious and afraid. “I’ve got him,” she says as she steps from the water. “But he’s not breathing – I’m going to need you to call 9-1-1.” He nods quickly, disappearing in a blur of motion as he heads towards the road to flag down a driver. Hopefully, whoever stops will have a cell phone.

Absently thankful for the CPR course everyone takes in their Freshman year at Smallville High, as well as her three years of lifeguarding, Val starts with rescue breathing. Thirty seconds in and his heart stops. _Shit._ She switches over to chest compressions. _Don’t-die-don’t-die-don’t-die_ \- Before she can make it halfway through her second cycle, her efforts pay off.

She leans back as he coughs and splutters, listening intently to his thundering heart. It gradually calms as his coughing fit ends, only speeding up again when Clark settles beside them. The man’s eyes flicker back and forth between them in something like wonder.

Déjà vu hits her then. _Where have I seen this bef-_ She barely stops herself from flinching violently when her brain finally makes the connection. _I’m not in a comic book universe,_ she realizes.

_I’m in a tv show._

* * *

“Clark! Valerie!” Jonathan Kent comes barreling towards them, rushing past the EMTs and looking more worried than Val’s ever seen him. “Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” She smiles weakly, stilling reeling from her earlier realization. “We made it out of the way in time.”

Jonathan removes his jacket and Val wraps it around herself gratefully.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He smiles briefly before turning to the police officer on scene and raising his voice. “Who’s the bastard who was driving that car?”

“That would be me.” Luthor steps forward, hand out. “Lex Luthor.”

“Jonathan Kent.” Her adoptive father’s words are grudging. “And these are my _children_.” The last word is bitten out with so much accusation Val’s surprised Luthor doesn’t flinch from it.

Instead, the words only serve to remind him of their presence – of _her_ presence. “Thank you for saving my life,” he says.

Val swallows and averts her eyes, uncomfortable with the intense eye contact. “Anyone would’ve done it,” she says.

Her father is just as uncomfortable, ushering his two adopted children to his car with a grunted, “Let’s go.”

As they move past Luthor and towards the road, he catches Jonathan’s shoulder. “You have some incredible children Mr. Kent. If there’s anything at all that I can do to repay you…”

Jonathan shakes him off with a scowl. “Drive slower.”

A little stunned at his vehemence, Val could only follow in his wake, with Clark a silent shadow at her side. They all climbed into his truck.


	4. (Don't) Meet Your Heroes (MCU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina crosses paths with major players early on. This has a startling effect on the timeline.

Ending up in the Marvel Universe would have been a hell of a lot cooler if my second incarnation hadn’t been born in 1970.

.

.

.

I was seven years old when I first stared into a textbook and saw something _wrong._ Contrary to what you might expect, it wasn’t anything as obvious as seeing Captain America touted as a real hero. Instead, it was a brief mention of a theory that violated known laws of physics.

I read the sentence again, just to be sure.

 _Science can do incredible things like cure diseases, take us to space, and even shrink things*!_ At the bottom of the page, there was a corresponding asterisk that read, _Ask your teacher about the shrinking potato of 1965 if you’d like to learn more._

“This can’t be right,” I muttered peevishly. You couldn’t _shrink_ matter. Cut it, reshape it, or condense it maybe. But shrinking? Not possible.

I went to a school for gifted students. In the upper years, we’d learn more advanced science and math than most college students. Even now, in a class of seven- and eight-year-olds, the basics we were taught reflected the cutting edge theories of the early eighties.

This was the first time I’d heard or read something that didn’t match with what I already knew from my old universe.

“Mrs. Newlen?” I called.

She turned from where she was helping another child with a word he didn’t know. “Yes, Tina?”

“Can you tell us about the shrinking potato?”

“Oh yes!” She smiled brightly. “It’s really very interesting. It all started with a man named Hank Pym…”

.

.

.

Despite my mental age, I recovered from my existential crisis with all the resilience of a child. That is to say, I freaked out briefly, then accepted my new normal and got on with my life.

There were a few times, however, which forced me to face reali– er, fiction.

“Did you hear about Howard Stark’s son?” Bethany stared at me expectantly from her side of the lab bench.

I blinked in surprise. “No, what happened to him?”

“He’s going to MIT,” she confided. “At thirteen!” When I didn’t react in a properly shocked manner she whacked my shoulder. “Did you not hear what I just said? _He’s our age!”_

I rolled my eyes. “It’s impressive, sure, but I don’t know why you’re freaking out. Your brother Donny’s going to college early too.”

“Donny’s fifteen. It’s not that impressive.” She pulled something from her bag and slapped it on the table in front of me. “Tony Stark, on the other hand…”

I leaned forward and started to read the crumpled article. It talked about his first circuit board, the robots he’d built, and his insane test scores. “Huh, he really is a genius.” It confirmed that the media I’d consumed in my old life was somewhat accurate.

“Right?” Bethany’s eyes were bright with excitement. “And he’s cute too!”

I looked at the picture again. “Yeah, he’s cute.” Too bad I was into older men. I couldn’t even blame it on remembering my old life. I’d been hot for teacher the first time around too.

“I get to meet him next weekend.”

I whipped my head around so fast I nearly got whiplash. “What?”

“It’s crazy, right? My dad was the lead developer on SI’s latest project. He’s been invited to the unveiling party.” She tucked the article away and lowered her voice when the bell rang. “You should come too. My dad said I could bring a friend.”

“Oh… I don’t know.”

“Please?”

“…Maybe.”


	5. Aftermath (HP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? Did you think there were no side effects to having your soul nearly drained?

For what seemed like an eternity – but may have only been seconds, she had no way of knowing for sure – Ginny was adrift in a sea of nothingness. She had no eyes to see, no ears to hear, and no body to feel with. With every passing moment, each one simultaneously lengthy and unbearably short, her awareness faded.

 

The eleven-year-old likened it to falling asleep, though that description didn’t really do her situation justice. _Everything_ was fading along with her consciousness. Emotions, senses, personality…

 

It was as though everything that made her Ginny was being swallowed up by something so vast and incomprehensible that her very existence quailed at its presence. In the beginning, there’d been fear. Now?

 

Now, there was only numb acceptance. She couldn’t quite remember why losing herself would be so bad…

 

Just before letting the darkness engulf her completely, Ginny felt a spark of _something_ ignite deep inside her. Almost immediately, everything came rushing back – her memories, thoughts, feelings. The darkness drew away from her abruptly, but not before Ginny glimpsed something from the other side.

 

Though remarkably brief, the glimpse was enough.

 

Suddenly Ginny wasn’t just regaining her memories, but the memories of another girl. The girl’s identity was secondary to her own, but just as real.

 

There were eerie parallels between Ginny’s life and the life of the other girl. Both had only brothers, though Ginny had six to Sophie’s three. Both were somewhat tomboyish. Both had trouble making new friends, coming across as shy when they were anything but.

 

Yet they were two entirely different people. Ginny had grown up surrounded by magic while Sophie’s only exposure to magic had been in the form of books and movies.

 

She would have continued to mull over the differences between her life and Sophie’s had a voice not broken through the thick haze clouding her mind. Any and all thoughts about the curiosities of life were pushed away to be considered later – when she knew where she was and what was going on.

 

“Ginny. _Ginny_. Please! You’ve got to wake up…” It took her a long moment to recognize the pale face leaning over her. When she did, memories of what had occurred before she began to fade came rushing back.

 

Sitting up abruptly Ginny hastened to explain herself. “Oh Harry! I’m so sorry! I tried to tell you at breakfast – it was me. _I_ petrified all those people. _I_ released Slytherin’s monster.” She took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t m-mean to, I swear! Tom was controlling me. I th-thought he was my friend, but he – he’s actually…”

 

“I know,” Harry said quietly. Through her tears Ginny saw that Harry was uncharacteristically solemn and she finally took in the rest of her surroundings.

 

They were still in the chamber but Tom was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was the body of a giant snake that Ginny knew to be the monster Tom – no, _Riddle_ – had been controlling.

 

“Where is he? What happened? How’d you kill that – that _thing_. Why aren’t I d-dead?” At least, she didn’t think she was dead. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe they were both dead and it was all her fault…

 

“He’s gone. The beast is dead and I’ve destroyed the diary.” He gestured to a large red phoenix – _a phoenix!_ – and hefted a blood splattered blade into the air. “That’s Fawkes, he blinded the basilisk and gave me the sword to kill it.” Those words made Ginny’s heart soar. Of course Harry saved the day, how could she have doubted him? He’s the same person who destroyed You-Know-Who when he was just a baby! He –

 

“Look, we need to get out of here,” Harry’s voice was hoarse as he interrupted her semi-hysterical thoughts. “Ron’s waiting for us, we’ve got to let everyone know you’re okay.”

 

“Oh no.” Ginny felt her hopeful expression into one of pure horror. “What will my parents say? My brothers? I’m going to be expelled! I’ll be sent to Azkaban and I–”

 

“Ginny,” Harry interrupted her. “It wasn’t your fault – Tom was controlling you. They’ll understand.” He sighed somewhat tiredly and reached out to pull her to her feet. “Let’s just get out of here.”

 

The second year looked so utterly exhausted – _and was that blood?!_ – that Ginny immediately felt guilty for being so preoccupied with herself.

 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, of course you want to get out of here!” She stood abruptly, having to lean a little on her savior when her legs proved less sure than her intentions. Using one another for support, they made it to what appeared to be a cave-in.

 

It was all Ginny could do to block out the memories of her trip down here. The last thing she wanted to do was remember what it felt like to know you were walking to your death, betrayed by the one person you’d thought you could trust.

 

“Ron?” Harry called. “You there?”

 

“Harry!” Ron’s face popped up. “Where’s Ginny? Is she all right?”

 

“I’m here Ron!” She called back, stepping forward so he could see her. “I’m okay.”


	6. I'm a WHAT? (HP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SI as Harry Potter himself!

**Little Whinging, Surrey**

_11:58._ The green numbers on Dudley Dursley’s old alarm clock glowed eerily in a cramped cupboard beneath the stairs of Number 4, Privet Drive. The cupboard’s only occupant, a ten-year-old Harry Potter, decided that it was finally late enough to sneak out.

He gently eased his cupboard door open and glanced about for his relatives. When no one immediately jumped out to yell at him, Harry deemed it safe to exit. He shuffled quietly through the house in his too big pajamas and made it to the kitchen with very little fanfare.

Once there, he proceeded to fix himself a sandwich. He was careful not leave any crumbs and made sure to put everything back exactly where he’d found it. It wouldn’t do to leave any evidence for Aunt Petunia to find. The last thing he wanted was to give her reason to keep him locked away even longer than she already had.

Then, he crept as quickly and quietly as he could to the back door, letting himself out into the backyard.

A sigh of relief escaped him as soon as the door shut behind him. He’d been waiting all day for some time to himself. During the school year, he spent most of his days out of the house and away from his relatives, but in the summer he was stuck spending day after day under his aunt’s watchful eye. It wouldn’t be so bad, were it not for the blatant mistrust and suspicion she regarded him with.

Mildly irritated at the thought of his overbearing aunt, Harry chewed his sandwich with excessive force. He’d tried to leave the house on two separate occasions in the past week and both times she’d forced him to stay in and do chores instead. Usually he didn’t mind the mundane tasks, but there was only so much of his “family” he could take.

He shook his head to rid himself of the miserable thoughts and settled into the cool grass with his meal. There was no point in dwelling on his unfortunate circumstances, especially not in one of his few moments of freedom.

Determined to enjoy himself, he dug into the remainder of his sandwich with gusto.

 _I hope I grow a few inches soon – even the girls in my class are taller than me now._ He’d been constantly hungry lately – hopefully a sign of an upcoming growth spurt – but realized the futility of asking for seconds at mealtimes early on. His aunt made sure he ate what was required for his health and nothing more. It was a far cry from how she treated her own son, who she always insisted was ‘a growing boy’.

 _Growing wider maybe…_ Harry thought with an uncharitable snicker.

A rustle to his left had Harry jerking his head to the side and sitting up hastily, only for him to relax when he saw a dark gray cat. “Hey there, little guy,” Harry whispered. He recognized the cat as one of Mrs. Figg’s, but beyond knowing it was male, couldn’t recall anything else about it. Holding out his fingers for the cat to sniff, he hoped it was one of the friendlier ones.

Fortunately for him, the cat merely rubbed his hand with its face and sat down beside him. “You know,” Harry stated in a low voice as he read the name on the cat’s collar, “I’ve always really liked cats, though if I ever owned one I’d name you something a lot better than Mr. Paws.”

The cat ignored him, seemingly content to sit beside his leg and rest. Harry stopped talking, choosing to lie back down in the grass and think. His thoughts drifted towards the indistinct memories he had of his previous life. Or at least, what he assumed was his previous life.

For as long as he could remember, Harry had had these memories floating around in his head. He didn’t understand them at first, thinking they were memories left over from the brief time spent with his late parents. Then, when he became old enough to realize the fact that he was older, and most definitely _not_ _Harry_ in the memories, he thought they were daydreams of a sort. It wasn’t until he entered school and overheard a conversation about religion between two older students that he considered reincarnation. He’d gone to a teacher to ask about the meaning of the word and gotten answers to more than he’d expected.

_Rebirth._

Finally, he’d had some sort of explanation. He didn’t share his theory, already aware that beyond his basic needs, his aunt and uncle wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, he kept the realization to himself.

Even when he made casual friends at school, Harry didn’t bother telling anyone he thought he’d lived another life. Why should he when it didn’t make a difference? He was still Harry, not whomever he’d been before. Teachers called him mature and a quick study, but he had no way of knowing whether that was a result of his unusual situation, or just the way he was. Other than as a reference point, the memories he had were pretty inconsequential.

He didn’t even think about it all that often. It would occasionally come to mind when he was on his own for long stretches or when something specific brought up a memory, but even then it was usually fleeting. Along the lines of: _Oh, I think I learned about that in my past life,_ or, _my mother had hair like that…_ and then he’d be thinking about something else.

All in all, Harry considered it a quirk – akin to being able to wiggle your ears. And you didn’t go around telling others you could wiggle your ears, so why would he tell others about something he considered just as pointless and irrelevant?

He fingered the odd scar at the center of his forehead. _Although,_ Harry allowed, _I might have to consider it a little more significant if I do turn out to be some sort of wizard._ He hadn’t really thought about it until recently, but his name, along with his scar, were eerily reminiscent of a character in a book series he could only vaguely recall from his first life. The few times something had jogged that memory, he’d only spared a thought for, ‘oh, what a coincidence’ and left it at that.

He knew that the life he remembered took place in the future, so until recently he’d just assumed that he’d had the name before the series came out. Now, he had to consider the possibility that the series wouldn’t ever be written, at least, not in this world.

There was no other choice, not after he'd spent nearly a full minute hovering in the air after falling from a tree. It had been nearly two weeks ago that he’d closed his eyes in fear as he plummeted to the ground, only to stop inches before he hit. For a little while, he’d been afraid that he was stuck, but right when he began to worry about it he fell the rest of the way to the earth.

 _That_ was something for which the only explanation he had was magic.

It sounded silly, but Harry couldn’t help but feel excitement at the idea. Rationally, he knew that with his name and his scar there were plenty of negatives to his situation, like a mass murderer out to get him, for one, but those were abstract things… Things he couldn’t really believe had happened or would happen to him.

Magic on the other hand, was something he’d already witnessed first hand and wanted very badly to be real.

Since the ‘incident’ – as he’d taken to calling it – he’d recalled quite a few other strange instances where magic might be to blame. Now he was itching to practice, to see if he could call on his magic intentionally. In fact, he would have done so already if it weren’t for Aunt Petunia’s meddling.

 _I suppose there’s no time like the present…_ Harry sat up once more, gently shooing the cat away. Mr. Paws went only grudgingly, moving back a few feet to stare at him balefully. “Don’t look at me like that,” Harry told him. “I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt – I don’t know how this magic thing works just yet.”

The cat meowed in response and Harry rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a cat…” He glanced around for something to use. _Aha!_ He picked up a decently sized rock and placed it in the palm of his left hand. Then, he wracked his brain for some sort of spell. Fortunately, the one he wanted came to mind relatively quickly – it’s introduction had been somewhat iconic, after all.

 _“Windgardium Leviosa.”_ Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. Altering inflection and pitch also failed. Cautiously raising his voice and lowering it to a whisper did nothing. Visualization did nothing.

Finally, after countless unsuccessful attempts, Harry glanced over at Mr. Paws. The cat was licking a forepaw and looking about as bored as a cat could look. The ten-year-old sighed in resignation. _So much for being a natural,_ he thought glumly. _I suppose my fictional counterpart wasn’t too impressive in the first book – maybe it’s a maturity thing? Maybe my magic isn’t finished developing yet?_

He hoped that was the case. Still, he wouldn’t give up so easily.

It was June, he had three months until Hogwarts, if it was even real. That was plenty of time to start figuring this magic thing out and planning for the future. Even if everything turned out to be the product of his overactive imagination, it would keep him occupied for a while.

And anything that kept his mind off his relatives could only be a good thing.


	7. The Lights Are On, But Nobody's Home (Naruto)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SI!Sasuke. She's too female, too apathetic, too weak. There's no way she's following in canon!Sauke's footsteps.

Trauma, especially psychological trauma, can wreak considerable damage. Side-effects like flashbacks, emotional instability, and depression aren’t at all uncommon.

Following my family’s brutal massacre, I had one other reaction – one rather less anticipated. The result? Sudden and complete recollection of my previous incarnation.

In layman’s terms, I remembered my past life.

 

…

 

“Chiyome-kun, are you sure you want to live on your own? I’m sure we can find a suitable caretaker.” Fujimoto-sensei placed a tentative hand on my shoulder.

I resisted the urge to sigh and came to a complete stop just outside my childhood home. I was more Ella than Chiyome at the moment, so I didn’t rage at her like I wanted to; instead, I gave a shallow bow. “Thank you for looking out for me Fujimoto-sensei, but I’d prefer to live by myself for the time being – I need the space.” I looked up at her with solemn eyes, my expression beseeching. “I promise to ask for help if I need it.”

Her shoulders slumped in resignation. She’d tried to change my mind more times than I could count, but I’d been very firm in my decision. “Fine,” she conceded. “But I’m going to come check on you every few weeks until I’m sure you can handle yourself. In the meantime, I’ll give you my address.” She pulled a piece of folded paper from her jacket pocket. “I want you to come find me if you need anything at all. I don’t care if it’s food, medical assistance, or just an open ear – you come get me at either the hospital or my home.”

My lingering irritation and impatience faded away at the earnest worry on her face. “Of course.” Before I could second guess myself I stepped closer to the doctor. With a fortifying breath, I wrapped my arms around her, burying my face in her stomach. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”

I suspected she had some idea of how grateful I was, considering I chose her out of everyone to escort me home, but I wanted her to truly _know_. A hug was the only thing I could come up with that would do that. It was out of character, but it said so many things that I couldn’t express verbally. _I trust you. I care about you. I’ll miss you._

She was the first person after the massacre to be openly compassionate _and_ unobtrusive. She was always willing to give me time to collect myself and only helped with the things I absolutely couldn’t do.

The other nurses and doctors treated me like an invalid no matter how much I protested. Fujimoto pitied me, yes, but she also expected me to get up and keep moving no matter how badly I felt. If I thought I could do something on my own during my recovery, she gave me the chance to try.

“Really Chiyome-kun,” she insisted. “Come see me whenever, there doesn’t need to be a reason.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. Before I was Chiyome, I’d been pretty good at reading people. Now, that skill was telling me that Fujimoto was as sincere as she’d always seemed.

I started walking towards the front door, forcing myself not to hesitate. “Have a good evening, Fujimoto-sensei,” I called over my shoulder with as much cheer as I could muster. I didn’t turn around when she offered her own farewell. Instead, I stepped inside my home and shut the door firmly behind me.

A beat of silence passed.

I crumpled to the floor with a dry sob. I wasn’t quite sure who I was crying for, my family or Chiyome’s, maybe both, but it hurt all the same. _Why me?_ I wondered for what had to be the hundredth time. _Why?_

 

…

 

School was unpleasant.

Despite the fact that it was, theoretically, my ideal (I loved a physical challenge almost as much as I enjoyed studying obscure subjects); Konoha’s Shinobi Academy – the Academy for short – left me feeling raw.

“Chiyome-chan, how are you feeling today?”

I gritted my teeth. The suffix was what really got to me. It was just so _goddamn_ condescending.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said with as much composure as I could muster, unclenching my jaw as I lifted my head to face the speaker. Mirai-sensei. She wasn’t a bad person, very few people were, but she _was_ ignorant. Currently, I lacked the patience to deal with her.

I angled my body ever-so-slightly away and made no move to prolong our interaction. Maybe if I were obvious enough, she’d take the hint?

No such luck. “If you say so…” she said with clear skepticism. “Are you sure you want to eat lunch here? By yourself?”

“Yes Mirai-sensei,” I said, channeling the last of my goodwill. “The peace and quiet is relaxing.” I glanced around fondly at my surroundings. While the other students took their lunch either in the classroom or on one of the benches in the courtyard, I’d taken to setting up under an oak tree on the edge of the property. It was shady, the grass was soft, and best of all – it was silent.

“You know, it’s not healthy to isolate yourself, Chiyome-chan.”

It was obscenely difficult to reign in my anger and frustration, but I managed. “No, it isn’t,” I agreed. “Which is why it’s a good thing I’m not doing so, isn’t it?” She opened her mouth, probably to protest, but I continued before she could do so. “When class is back in session, I’ll rejoin my peers. Until then, I’d like to enjoy one of the rare instances in which I’m given some time to myself.” When Mirai-sensei made no move to do anything at all, I preempted her with a sickly sweet, “Goodbye.”

I turned back to my lunch and made it a point to ignore any more of the woman’s attempts to draw my attention. Eventually, she gave up and I was left in peace for the remainder of the lunch hour.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate all the concern. I did. _But only in theory_. In practice, there were very few people whose sympathy didn’t grate on my nerves. Fujimoto was one. The jounin who’d questioned me after the… _incident_ , was another. The rest, well, let’s just say my patience was understandably limited.

Thankfully, by the time our lunch break ended, I’d regained enough of my tranquility to return to class in a decent mood. Upon entering the classroom, I even made sure to greet my classmates politely and succinctly so as to avoid any chance that I’d be labeled as aggressively antisocial. With any luck, they’d correctly assume I was reserved in my grief.

Iruka-sensei clapped and the din of conversation faded. “Okay class, return to your seats.” Everyone did so. “I’m going to place your tests face down on your desks, you’re to leave them there until I give the word.” He started walking up and down the rows, handing out the thick packets that were our final exams for the year. “You will have two hours.” My packet landed in front of me. “Begin!”

I opened the packet to the first page and wrote my name in obsessively neat print. The first section covered all the mathematics we’d gone over so far, including algebra, geometry, and standard arithmetic for review. All in all, it was incredibly easy.

I may have had a new identity, but I was still the same person at heart. And that person was a perfectionist with superb logical reasoning skills.

The next section was practical science and only consisted of basic biology and physics. That too, was easily completed.

It was the third section that gave me pause. The questions were all short answer, which was fine, it was the subject matter that was the problem. History has never been my strong suit, it’s never interested me in the same way maths and sciences do. Still, I muddled through, answering correctly, but not thoroughly. I suspected it wouldn’t matter in the long run – ninjas valued brevity.

The fourth section was logical reasoning and problem solving – the easiest yet. I finished it quickly and moved on to the final section at the 70-minute mark.

I suspected the mental evaluation was left for last so that students were exhausted enough to answer honestly. I had enough sense that I thought very carefully about my answers, but ultimately most of them were honest anyway.

Had I truly been a nine year old, one without another life to fall back on, I probably would have bullshitted my way through, writing the answers I knew they wanted to see. With my extra experience, I didn’t have to. The emotional maturity I’d gained as Ella was helping me grieve properly.

I ended up finishing the test with a half-hour to spare. I skimmed over my answers one last time before closing the packet and taking it to the front of the room.

Iruka looked up from the papers he was marking in mild surprise. “Finished?”

“Yes sir,” I handed my final exam over. “May I leave now?”

“Of course.” He placed the testing packet within a drawer and locked it. “Just make sure you’re back by eight o’clock tomorrow morning for your results.”

“I’ll be here,” I assured him.

That said, I nodded in the direction of my classmates and left the building. We very rarely had to take things other than lunch to school – our supplies were kept in the classrooms and homework was only due at the start of each week – so I only had to carry my empty bento box on the way home.

It was a peaceful trip back. No one looked twice at a dark-haired girl walking the streets, not when I kept my head down and my trademark eyes hidden. I did take a quick detour though, stopping by Fujimoto-sensei’s house and sliding an invitation to tea under her door.

After that I made my way to the Uchiha compound, which was always unnerving during daylight hours. You’d think the evening would be worse, but in reality it was the opposite. The empty streets and silent homes were more out of place during the day, when the rest of the villagers were out and about in the sunshine.

Still, it had been two months since the… _incident._ I was beginning to grow used to the deserted compound. I walked the rest of the way to my house, letting myself in with the key I kept on a chain around my neck.

(As Ella, I’d always been misplacing my keys. Chiyome hadn’t been as careless, but with no one at home to let me in, I’d decided to just circumvent the issue of who I’d take after by wearing them as an accessory.)

Once inside, I reheated leftover chicken from the night before with some vegetables. Not exciting, but with my limited cooking skills, I didn’t have many other options. I ate slowly since I had two hours until my scheduled hospital visit, but still finished early enough that I had to bring out a book to read.

It wasn’t anything too exciting, just an old memoir of an Uchiha clan member during the Warring States period. Probably the closest I’d ever get to reading historical texts outside of school, if I were being completely honest.

I made it about a quarter of the way through, getting to the part when the man first met his betrothed when my alarm went off. Irritably, I shut it off and left the house.

The hospital visit went the same way the last five had gone. I was poked and prodded at, then mercilessly interrogated as to how I felt, what I remembered, and what I wanted to do in response. I tailored my answers only a little, making sure to keep to the same partial truths I’d been giving during my previous visits.

An hour and a half later, I was dismissed.

The days, weeks, and months that followed were much the same. Some of the fervor over my tragic ordeal faded, but I remained in the spotlight as ‘the last (loyal) Uchiha.’

I went to school, trained, learned to cook, and attended the six months of mandatory hospital visits.

I didn’t really stop to consider my supposed knowledge of the future, or formulate any goals beyond making it through each day, but eventually things came to a head. 

The anime had been called _Naruto_ after all, it only stood to reason that I’d meet the main character at some point.


	8. Spring (MCU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leah and Bucky are two peas in a pod. Or rather, two souls in a body. Together, they might just avert the events of Civil War entirely.

When your physical memories are wiped, over and over again, you have no choice but to fall back on metaphysical ones.

At least, that was what Leah assumed. Why else would a dead girl find herself in someone else’s body, struggling to incorporate conflicting thoughts and instincts?

Not that the Winter Soldier had many thoughts at the moment. Mostly, he was a mess of physical training and broken programming. It was no wonder Leah’s personality took over – there wasn’t enough Bucky left to be a person.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. As much as she’d like to believe otherwise, she and Bucky weren’t actually separate people. They were the same person, across two very different lifetimes. And, thanks to Hydra and the resulting trauma from trying to kill their best friend, they’d taken on the personality of the lifetime they could actually remember without suffering from flashbacks or the lingering effects of brainwashing.

_So what the hell do I do now that I’m a rogue assassin in a comic book universe?_ She thought about what she knew of Bucky’s – of her reincarnation’s – past.

It only took a moment for a solution to present itself.

“I guess I’m going hunting,” she announced to the empty warehouse.

.

.

.

Three months in and Bucky was having the time of his life. Sixteen Hydra bases were no longer in existence, his memories of his most recent life were returning in leaps and bounds, and he’d managed to fit in a couple of mini-vacations between all the chaos.

Sure, he sometimes slipped and thought of himself as the long-dead Leah, but that wasn’t always a bad thing. His previous incarnation had actually grown up in the 21st century, making it much easier for him to adapt and blend in.

All in all, he thought he was finally ready to meet Steve. And, after agonizing over how to do so for absolute ages, he decided to throw caution to the wind.

“Hey punk!” Steve just about had a heart attack, whipping off his shield and hauling it straight at Bucky’s face. He caught it easily. “Geez Stevie, don’t our years of friendship mean anything to you?” The blonde’s face crumbled in absolute agony and Bucky leapt down from the smoldering ruins of his latest base. “Shit,” he cursed as he jogged over. “I shoulda known you’d be blaming yourself.”

Steve looked indignant. “Of course I am, I let you fall!”

Bucky grimaced at the memory, but ultimately shook it off. “You did all you could,” he said firmly. When the blonde opened his mouth to argue Bucky stepped right into his personal space and covered his mouth. “No, I’m gonna take off if I hear one more word about it.”

He almost felt guilty when his words took all the fight out of the man. Sighing, he removed his hand. “You know, you could at least tense when I grab you unexpectedly – considering I tried to kill you not too long ago.”

“But you remember me,” Steve said, looking like Christmas had come early. “You remembered who you are. And Buck, who you are is not a threat – you’re my friend.”

Bucky raised his eyes to the heavens. “You’re such a goddamn sap, Steve. And I only remember some, not all. I’m by no means the same guy who fell from the train.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve insisted.

“If you say so.” Bucky took his friend at his word. He knew Steve had changed as well, thanks to Leah’s memories, but it wouldn’t matter. You don’t just stop caring about someone you love. Not even with 70 years between you. Leah knew that, and now he did as well. “Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t we take your flying friend and get something to eat?” He nodded at the figure hiding behind a tree some ways away.

Steve jerked around and Wing-guy emerged from his hiding spot with obvious embarrassment. “Nice to meet you?”

Bucky snorted. Ten seconds ago the man had had his gun aimed right at his head. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.” He looked between them and smiled. “Come on,” he started walking in the direction of the car the other two had taken. “I’m thinking cheap diner food?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” said Steve. The poor guy still sounded dazed.

Bucky smirked. “Catch!” He tossed the shield back in the direction of his friend, startling the poor fool and knocking him back a step. God, he was looking forward to messing with Steve.

.

.

.

Bucky took a sip of his milkshake and groaned in satisfaction. “Oh man, I’ve missed real food so much.” He looked over at his two painfully awkward table-mates. “I’m telling you – you don’t know torture until you go 70 years without a flavorful meal.” He took a generous bite of his burger and let his eyes fall shut. “Damn that’s good.” He chewed slowly and then swallowed, savoring the taste.

The other two were gaping at him, probably due to the casual torture reference, but Bucky was happily pretending all the bad things that had happened to him weren’t real. Leah’s memories of his _fictional_ life made that especially easy.

“What did they feed you?” Wilson looked a little horrified at himself for asking, but too curious to take it back.

“Dunno,” he shrugged casually. “It was all pills and tubes.”

Steve turned green at that so Bucky wiped his gloves off and made a show of checking his smart phone. “Oh wow, look at the time – I’d better get going. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“What?! No! Bucky, wait!” Steve flipped out right on cue, jumping up and grabbing his shoulders. Bucky pointedly ignored the flinch when he came in contact with the metal one. “Please, come back with me – you can stay with me at the tower while we get Stark’s lawyers to clear your name.”

He made a show of thinking about it, internally pleased. Both his mothers always said it was bad manners to invite yourself somewhere – so he’d forced Steve’s hand. “Okay.”

“Plea-” Steve paused, looking dumbstruck. “Okay?”

“Why not?” Bucky tossed two twenties down and waited for Wilson to scramble to his feet. “I can put off my Hydra hunt for a little while. Most of the bases I know about are already destroyed or abandoned by now, so I need some time to gather intel anyway.”

“Uh-huh.” Wilson sounded skeptical, but it was true. After the fifth time a base was utterly destroyed due to unknown causes – Hydra’s goons finally caught on and packed up any and all locations that had ever housed the Winter Soldier.

“Well, what are you two goons waiting for?” Bucky was already dreaming of honest to God water pressure. “Let’s go.”


	9. Windswept (A:tLA)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren wakes up in the South Pole with a foreign set of memories. She's not so enthused with being a member of an near-extinct race in a war-torn world, but as far as consolation prizes go, airbending is pretty nice.

Waking up was… bizarre. One minute Wren was dreaming, the next she was half buried in snow and blinking blearily up at a clear blue sky.

 

“What the-” She sat up quickly. _Ugh, bad idea._ Her body rebelled at the motion, curling in on itself without her say-so.

 

Cringing at the aches and pains she couldn’t recall getting, Wren shook her head and tried to remember how she’d gotten outside. It wasn’t easy. Her thoughts were muddled and unwieldy. It felt a lot like she’d had a bit too much to drink. _Did I?_ Wren wondered. _Is this some sort of extreme hangover? What the hell did I_ do _last night?!_

 

“Oh good, you’re okay!” The voice that interrupted her mental crisis was young, familiar, and very welcome. It immediately brought to mind the dream she’d been having. She sighed in relief. No wonder the real world was so hard to call to mind – she was still asleep!

 

“Mostly,” she agreed. “What about you?” She clambered to her feet and looked the boy over.

 

He patted himself down. “I’m a little sore, but otherwise alright.”

 

“That’s good!” said Wren, beaming at his sweet little face. “I thought for sure we were done for.”

 

The boy laughed. “I thought so too!” He bowed politely. “I’m Aang – what’s your name?”

 

Wren did little more than blink at the revelation. It wasn’t too surprising – why would she dream of Avatar: the Last Airbender and leave out the main character? She smoothly returned the bow. “I’m Wren,” she told him honestly, if a bit distractedly. She was a little preoccupied with matching the storm her dream self had been in to the one from the show’s plot.

 

He opened his mouth, no doubt to ask which temple she hailed from (it was customary amongst airbenders), but was interrupted by two raised voices beyond the bowl of ice she and Aang were standing in.

 

“What were you thinking, Katara?! You could have gotten us killed!”

 

“His eyes opened, I thought he was alive! I couldn’t just leave him there!”

 

After sharing a look, she and Aang jumped over the ice to investigate. Wren, of course, had some idea of what to expect, but was still curious as to what the characters looked like outside of 2D drawings.

 

When she landed she immediately focused on the Water Tribe siblings’ features. The boy, Sokka, was taller than she was, but not by much. His face was thin with either hunger or too much growth in too little time and his eyes were a bright and clear light blue, standing out against the soft brown of his skin.

 

Katara looked very much like her brother. Upon closer inspection, her nose was slightly wider and her face and lips were fuller, but Wren imagined they would have been near identical as children.

 

They backed up at the sight of Wren and her companion, clearly startled.

 

“Hello,” Aang said with a friendly grin. “You must be members of the Southern Water Tribe – I’m Aang and this is Wren. We got caught in the storm and are a little lost. Could you direct us to the nearest settlement?”

 

“What storm?” Sokka had shoved his sister behind him, suspicion plain on his face.

 

Aang shot a look towards Wren as if to say, ‘Is this guy serious?’ She shrugged, unwilling to say anything when she knew the other boy had a point. The storm Aang was talking about had happened a hundred years ago.

 

“You know,” Aang said exasperatedly. “The massive storm with hurricane force winds?” He pointed at Wren and then back towards the massive bowl of ice. “We must have been knocked out of the sky – it’s lucky we landed here and not in the water!”

 

Katara pushed past her brother’s arm and stepped closer. “The sky?”

 

Wren answered this time, seeing no harm in explaining. “We’re airbenders,” she said, going off what she knew from her strangely detailed dream. “We were both flying south on our bison when the storm hit. We caught sight of one another as we tried to outrun it and decided to work together to try to bend our way to safety.”

 

“Airbenders,” Sokka scoffed. “Right, and my sister and I are sea spirits.” He glared at the both of them. “What do you really want? I’ll warn you now, our tribe doesn’t take kindly to Fire Nation scum.”

 

Wren opened her mouth to protest – as did Aang – but a low growl and the sound of something heavy shifting interrupted them. “Appa!” The boy was spinning into the air and over the ice in an instant.

 

“We’re not Fire Nation,” Wren said to the siblings. “Clearly,” She added with some humor as she herself leapt over the wall of ice.

 

Wren noticed the two sky bison immediately – there was no hiding their hulking forms. In fact, the only reason she hadn’t seen them when she first woke up was due to the fact that she’d been facing the opposite direction. Aang was already petting and hugging his partner’s massive head as the beast grumbled happily. Mana, once she caught sight of Wren, made her own sound of joy.

 

She ran forward, giddy with excitement. While she remembered her partner from the dream, seeing her up close and in the flesh was much cooler. “Hey girl,” Wren said, smiling so widely her cheeks ached with it. The bison nudged her torso with a massive head once she was close enough and Wren leaned into her, running her fingers through shaggy white fur.

 

She loved animals, but seeing such a gentle giant – one she knew was all hers, dream or not – was simply incredible.

 

“Woah,” Katara’s voice came out breathless with awe. “They’re huge!”

 

Wren looked up to find that the waterbender and her brother had scrambled over the ice after them.

 

“They’re not even fully grown,” Wren told them with a genuine pride. “Though Mana here is nearly there.” She patted her bison’s massive shoulder.

 

“Okay, say we believe you – where have you and all the other airbenders been hiding for the last century?” Sokka it seemed, would not be deterred.

 

“What are you talking about?” She was thankful Aang chose to respond – she wasn’t sure what she could say without ruining the dream.

 

“I’m talking about the fact that nobody’s seen an airbender in almost a century!”

 

Aang gave Wren a look that said, ‘Can you believe this guy?’ then turned back to the siblings. “You must live somewhere pretty remote.”

 

Sokka made an inarticulate noise of frustration.

 

Katara cut in, wearing an expression caught between confusion and interest. “It’s not really a matter of location. As far as the Southern Water Tribe is aware, the Air Nomads were wiped out by the Fire Nation at the start of the War.”

 

“War? What war are you talking about?”

 

The siblings exchanged incredulous looks. “I think,” Katara said slowly, “That you two might have been in that ice burg for longer than a day.”


	11. Chapter 11

Her parents used to say she was a daydreamer – Dee was not inclined to disagree.

 

If you asked her, it was a mostly unavoidable side affect of living the same life over again in a completely different world.

 

…

 

_This is ridiculous._

Dee had never tried to interfere before. She wishes she could have, when it came to the battle of New York, but she hadn’t known it would happen that year, let alone believed that everything would actually occur in the way she recalled.

 

Since then, she’d put some effort into finding the relevant memories and applying them to her current timeline. It was actually why she was here, in DC, despite all the chaos around her.

 

You see, following a mild concussion at age 14, Dee had been hit with a surge of memories. Memories that very clearly told her that Tony Stark and his alter ego _Ironman_ were fictional. Yeah, that didn’t exactly mesh with what she’d seen on the news a year previously.

 

The existential crises that followed was suitably dramatic for a 14 year old girl, but she got over it relatively quickly. Especially once she realized the concussion had had another side effect:

 

The ability to manipulate force vectors. Also known as the reason she was currently putting her life at risk.

 

Captain America had just sent the helicarriers crashing down and Shield’s DC headquarters were lying in ruin, with hundreds of people still trapped inside.

 

That was where Dee came in.

 

She adjusted her emergency response uniform, making especially sure her hair was tucked away, and jogged towards the collapsed and smoking building. Once she was sure the smoke had hidden her from view, Dee used her powers to pull the debris in front of her up and away. Then, she set about looking for survivors.

 

Right away, she found people half buried under the rubble. She didn’t bother to stop and check for signs of life, she simply dragged them to the nearest relief station and ran back for more.

 

For every person she pulled out of the rubble, there were at least two others clearly dead. Dee didn’t bother with them. Instead, she collected anyone with even the barest chance of survival. She tried to be as careful as she could with lifting pieces of broken building so as not to crush anyone, but ultimately didn’t know for how successful she was amidst all the dust and screaming.

 

Then, once the rest of the rescuers started arriving, Dee stuck entirely to the victims trapped higher up. She was the only one who could reach them, since no one wanted to count on the building’s structural integrity at this point.

 

It was tiring. More than once, Dee had to stop to throw up, or scream, at what she was seeing. Eventually, as things died down, the paramedics took notice of her less than stellar state, despite the fact that she’d been switching between the many stations so as not to be recognized.

 

“Come on, I’ve seen you bring in at least a dozen people from that wreckage – you need to sit down and rest before you keel over.” Dee tried to protest, but the man successfully manhandled her over to the haphazard break area they’d set up. “Here, I’ll get you some water. Things are starting to wind down so you can afford to catch your breath.” He filled a paper cup from the water cooler and pressed it into her gloved hand. “I’ve got to get back to work, but you should stay right here – you’ve done more than your fair share.”

 

Dee could only nod tiredly. She _was_ exhausted.

 

As he jogged away, she yanked down her bandana and started chugging. The lukewarm liquid felt heavenly on her dry throat. “Oh my god, is that a person?!”

 

Dee turned to find a pair of EMTs staring open-mouthed at the remains of the Triskelion building. She followed the woman’s pointed finger and saw, to her horror, that there was indeed a person hanging from the highest level still standing. The building had been swaying off and on since the initial collapse, but not enough to send someone sprawling out a window. Maybe they’d tried to climb down when they noticed the stairs were collapsed?

 

“I’ll get Dennis to radio in to one of the helicopters and see if they can lower a rope!” A man wearing black fatigues declared, having overheard the exclamation as well. Dee grimaced and pulled her bandana back up to cover her mouth. She then straightened her safety goggles and moved forward with the amassing crowd.

 

 _There’s no guarantee they’ll make it in time._ Not that there was any guarantee they wouldn’t, but Dee didn’t want to risk it. Breaking into a run, she closed in on the side of the building directly beneath the hanging figure. A few other responders close by with stretchers shouted at her to stop, saying the building wasn’t safe, but she paid them no mind – it wasn’t like she was planning on entering the building anyway.

 

Once she was close enough, Dee jumped. As soon as she did so, she altered the direction, but not the magnitude, of the force of gravity acting on her. She shot up, accelerating at roughly 9.8 meters per second squared. There were a few screams down below, but she didn’t have time to worry about that. Her target was fast approaching.

 

She didn’t bother calling out a warning. Instead, she caught the man under the armpits in a mimicry of a half nelson and used her powers to mitigate the extra weight. He let loose a startled shout, but was ultimately too surprised to shake her off, giving Dee time to send them both toward the ground at a steady rate.

 

“Don’t move,” she shouted through her bandana, once it seemed as though his initial shock had faded. She waited until his feet had touched the ground before letting go and shooting straight back up. People were fast approaching and she didn’t want to be caught.

 

She rocketed through what was left of the Triskelion, landing somewhere on the third floor. She didn’t dare trying to fly away; she wasn’t fast enough to outpace any sort of aircraft and had no wish to be shot down.

 

Luckily, she’d come up with an escape plan ahead of time.

 

Stripping out of her stolen uniform, Dee was left in her rolled up khakis and a peach colored button up. They were already pretty dirty, but a quick roll in some debris had her looking like the rest of the victims. Her visitor’s pass from earlier in the morning was still clipped to her chest and her hair a tangled mess from the helmet she’d been wearing, so with any luck she’d blend right in.

 

She carefully made her way down the mangled stairs, only using her powers to keep the dust and smoke away from her. Finally, she came across a pair of emergency responders. Making sure to cut off her ability completely, Dee took a breath of the smoky air right as the two came into view.

 

She coughed violently. “H-Help!”

 

The two rushed to her and she let her sudden asthma attack take its toll. Dazed and deprived of oxygen as she was, she’d blend right in with the rest of the people in the building.

 

They led her down to the ground floor and out into the sunshine, where a tall woman rushed forward to provide aid.

 

She allowed herself to be treated for smoke inhalation, but once she’d been taken to a nearby hospital and put aside with the rest of the non-criticals, she snuck away.

 

 _Now to get out of here…_ Stripping down once again, Dee was now in a gray tank and a tiny pair of shorts. A slightly dusty bun was the best she could manage with her hair, but it was enough to get her out of the hospital and onto the metro.

 

She got off at the Vienna station, found her car in the parking lot, and drove back to her apartment in Fairfax.

 

There, she replied to her mom’s missed calls with a text claiming she’d been on a long run and would check the news as soon as she could. That done, she showered quickly and crawled to bed, completely exhausted.

 

 _I am never,_ ever _doing that again._

**Six Months Later**

“…should be more like this ‘Good Samaritan’ figure we keep hearing about.” A newscaster was saying. “Using their abilities to help in situations where emergency personnel can’t, due to situational factors – not administering vigilante justice!”

 

His female companion disagreed. “While I agree that our guardian angel is more palatable in his actions, you can’t deny that the Avengers have done a great deal of good recently.”

 

Okay, so Dee’s resolution hadn’t exactly withstood the test of time. In her defense though, she’d yet to be caught!

 

Whether it was another collapsed building, a fire, or some other natural disaster – Dee had been all over DC, northern Virginia and Maryland helping out. Each time she simply donned another stolen uniform and helped with evacuation or administering minor first aid.

 

On one memorable occasion, she’d finally put her CPR certification to good use. She’d had to continue doing chest compressions and rescue breaths for nearly five minutes before the real responders made it to the scene.

 

With the chaos of a crisis, no one stopped to pay her much attention. She was free to help everyone evacuate, often saving people who were otherwise out of reach through careful manipulation of her powers.

 

The few times she was caught or had to reveal herself were in moments so chaotic that she was able to easily slip away, without anyone getting a good look at her.

 

It helped that her bulky uniform, helmet, goggles, and bandana that first time at the Triskelion had left everyone thinking their rescuer was a guy. And the shaky cell phone footage of the incident had done nothing to discourage that belief.

 

Since that made things easier for her, she’d continued with the charade. It certainly made escaping into the crowd much easier if she did end up revealing herself. No one was looking for a young woman in those moments.

 

In fact, Dee had everyone thinking she was a regular guy working a nine-to-five job. The media speculated as much since she mostly appeared on weekends or in the evening. That, added to the fact that she only appeared at well-publicized emergencies (and never right away), led to the belief that she helped when she could but lived her life outside of that. It was pretty much true, if you switched work for year-round college classes and male for female.

 

Some detractors thought she should go public and devote herself to saving people full time, but Dee was getting better at ignoring them. There were enough out there who were perfectly happy that she helped at all. They were the real reason she continued doing what she was doing.

 

“This just in: A terrorist attack on M Street.” Dee stopped to listen as the male newscaster from before interrupted the weather. “At least two bombs have gone off and-”And this was exactly why she listened to the news instead of music while she ran.

 

The twenty year old sprinted back up the trail, using her powers to make it to her car in record time. Luckily, she’d only been a mile into her run anyway. Even luckier, she’d chosen that day to run along the canal and was already incredibly close.

 

She dropped off her phone and wallet off at her car and made her way on foot up Canal Rd towards M Street.

 

Unfortunately, she hit a bit of a snag as she drew closer. “Stay back!” A perimeter had been set up. “We ask that everyone move indoors at this time – there are armed gunmen and they’ve taken hostages.”

 

 _That_ hadn’t yet made it onto the news when Dee removed her headphones and dropped off her phone. It put this emergency _well_ out of her comfort zone. Helping out in the wake of a bombing was one thing, but with the perpetrators still on the loose there wasn’t much she could do.

 

Gunshots rang out in the distance, followed by screaming. The police redoubled their efforts to clear the streets and Dee allowed herself to be caught up with the crowd.

 

It wasn’t really her responsibility and it was beyond dangerous, so she really shouldn’t get involved… but she _did_ have superpowers. Who else could help with so little risk to themselves? It wasn’t like she hadn’t planned for such events.

 

_I’m going to regret this._

Dee ran back to her car a little faster than was humanly possible. Once there, she opened her trunk and pulled out the one outfit she’d hoped never to wear. It was embarrassing, but she’d made a costume-of-sorts in case there was ever a time when stealing a firefighter or first responder uniform wouldn’t work. Since she wasn’t about to pretend to be a member of the local law enforcement (who were no doubt the only ones on the scene), it was currently her only option.

 

Changing in the back seat of her car was a bit of a challenge and putting on a wig even more so, but Dee managed. Then, she spared a moment to make sure her scarf completely covered her nose and mouth before slipping on her motorcycle goggles.

 

Altogether the whole thing made her look rather androgynous, but they still wouldn’t have much of a clue as to her actual looks, even if they did clue in on her gender.

 

She didn’t have any more time to worry about it though, lives were on the line.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star Trek: Alternate Timeline SI

_2258_

In the wake of the Narada incident, Tamara Lorre was assigned the position of Senior Mental Health Specialist aboard the USS Enterprise. While usually someone older and more experienced would hold the position, recent events had made Star Fleet desperate to get their remaining ships off the ground.

The twenty-three-year-old was now the fifth youngest crew member aboard the flagship and arguably the least qualified. She had all her required schooling and had spent a single semester in the black for an internship, but most other Senior Specialists had at least three years of practical post-graduate research completed.

…Tamara had five months.

Her situation was made all the more unusual thanks to the fact that most of her fellow crewmembers had been present for the situation with Nero. They were _all_ to undergo a year’s worth of mandatory therapy sessions. This meant that Tamara had many times the workload of someone typically in her position.

“Lorre, report to medical for debriefing.”

The communication sounded clearly in her spacious office and Tamara pushed her touch pad away with a sigh before pressing the button on the wall beside her desk. “On my way, sir,” she announced. It would be her first Face to face debriefing with the Chief Medical Officer since their voyage began two weeks ago.

Pushing aside her nerves as best as she was able, Tamara left her assistant with clear instructions to direct any walk-ins to Junior Specialist Hank Volbreck. Then she made her way to the medical bay’s main offices.

She stopped outside Dr. McCoy’s office and knocked twice.

“Come in.”

Tamara did so, immediately directing her focus to the gruff man she’d met only briefly before the start of the Enterprise’s five-year mission. He gestured for her to sit, never once looking up from the portable screen in his hands.

“Report.”

This at least, was something she was prepared for. “Sir, in the two weeks that I’ve been here I’ve conducted four two-hour sessions daily, all with crew members who were present for the events of last year. Dr. Volbreck has conducted three per day with the exception of Tuesdays.” She paused briefly. “I plan to continue in this pattern until every member of the crew has undergone their first meeting with myself or Dr. Volbreck.”

Dr. McCoy looked up for the first time, focusing pale blue eyes on Tamara’s face. “And how are you determining which crew members go first?”

“I’ve put those who work on maintaining life support systems at the top of my list, since their jobs are most immediately vital.” The doctor looked faintly green at this and Tamara wondered if space travel was as unpleasant a thought for him as it was for her. “Then I contacted my superiors at Starfleet for their suggestions on how to prioritize the rest.”

“And do you agree with those suggestions?”

She nodded. “I do. They’ve arranged it so that those with the most stressful and essential jobs will meet with my team first.”

“Good,” he said. “Have you come across any problems yet?”

“No sir,” Tamara assured him. “So far, the crewmembers I’ve seen have been coping admirably. Though I’ll be sure to let you know if I come across anyone who needs to be temporarily relieved of their post for further treatment.”

“Great. It’s nice to have someone on staff who’s actually _prepared to do some work on this godforsaken ship_!” He raised his voice at the end of the sentence, glaring at someone over Tamara’s shoulder. She turned and watched bemusedly as a thin man cringed before ducking out of view of the doorway. “Sorry about that,” Dr. McCoy told Tamara. “Davis seems to think he can delegate all his work to my nurses, the narrow-faced bastard. Anyway, you’re free to go.” He refocused on the touch pad on his desk. “I’ll see you again on the first of next month at 0800 hours.”

She stood to leave. “Oh, and Lorre?” He spoke up as she reached for the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Try not to overwork yourself, will you?”

Tamara smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind sir.”

…

Twelve days later, Tamara and Hank completed the last of their appointments with the life support and engineering divisions.

Her fellow specialist could not have been more pleased. “I think I might actually die of exhaustion,” Hank announced as he entered her office – barely waiting for her last patient to leave. “Seriously, if we continue at this pace I’ll burn out before the end of the year.”

Tamara rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “I know it’s rough, but things will get better from here on out.”

Hank snorted as he practically threw himself onto the sofa across from her desk.

“Really,” she insisted. “We’ve already seen a quarter of the crew and it’s been less than a month. We can afford to slow down a little.”

“Easy for you to say, Betazoids need half as much sleep as humans do.” Hank threw an arm over his eyes in exaggerated despair. “I’ve been running on coffee and willpower for the last week.”

“And in accordance with your needs I’ve given you fewer appointments per day,” Tamara pointed out. “Would you like me to up your quota?”

He sat up with a start, looking horror-stricken. “No!”

It was her turn to snort. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Ugh, I can’t deal with you right now.” Hank rolled his eyes before slowly rising to his feet. “Let’s just get dinner already so I can go to bed.”

Tamara looked down at her data log and decided it could wait. “Yeah, just let me stick my shoes on and we can go.” Going barefoot beneath her desk was something she’d decided was absolutely necessary if she was going to be working ten hour days.

The pair walked to the ship’s cafeteria together, trading academy anecdotes and their plans for their first full 48-hour break.

The rest of the crew gave them a wide berth, but that was to be expected. Tamara and Hank were capable of suspending or even dismissing fellow crewmembers if they suspected they were not in peak mental health. Nobody wanted to risk saying something that would lose them their job. It was a common misconception that something as innocent as admitting fatigue would be cause enough for mental health specialists to ponce.

That was blatantly untrue. Complaining was a common coping mechanism and fatigue was to be expected in such a high-stress job. It was the specialists’ job to make sure they continued coping and didn’t put their peers at risk.

Tamara had so far done her best to convey this to the patients she’d seen, but even the ones who’d believed her would be hesitant to approach when there was such a stigma to it.

Unlike her, Hank was enjoying the fear and avoidance. “They’re so ridiculous,” he told Tamara. “But if it means we don’t have to wait for a replicator – I’m all for it.”

Tamara rolled her eyes. Typically, she’d cite regulation on how they were meant to inspire trust and continuously try to better their relationships, but she knew Hank well enough now to recognize a joke when she heard one.

“Seriously,” he went on. “I bet you that if we sat down at a table that everyone else would find some piss-poor excuse to get up within a five-minute time frame.”

“No bet,” she said firmly. She caught the eyes of an eavesdropping engineer. “It wouldn’t take more than three.”

The engineer flushed, having run off the day before when Tamara tried to make friendly conversation. She fought off an amused smile. The irrational fear _was_ sort of funny when you weren’t the one feeling it.

“True.” Hank allowed. “I’ll miss it when it finally wears off.”

The two collected their meals from the replicator and moved to sit down at a mostly empty table. One which, just as they predicted, cleared out within minutes.


End file.
